


Faces and Aces

by LegionLight



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Character Adaptation, Contains a Big Spoiler for Danganronpa: THH, Danganronpa 3 Aftermath AU, Four-Leaf Clovers, Gen, Mirrors, One-Shot, playing cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegionLight/pseuds/LegionLight
Summary: Kemuri Jataro thinks Ikusaba Mukuro deserved better. So he works out some possibilities on how, with the usage of seven out of fifteen playing cards...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Faces and Aces

Brown shaded, fast-paced boots walking on orange boarded floor. Fists clenching, fake-nails scrapping against pale palms. False presenting, loose shifting end-twirls of pinkish blond. Voice yelling, words disagreeing with the monochrome bear. Act continuing, force pushing stomp. Many shooting, summoned flying spears. Blood splattered, flesh pierced body of a betrayed soldier.

He never met her. He had heard of her. He saw her first on a T.V screen. He watched her pretend to be a seemingly good, but actually horrendous person. He witnessed her play out her defiance. He listened to her most painful words.

Back then he was terrified of what happened. She wasn't a demon, unlike the people he believed to be ones. She seemed to have true kindness, underneath the lie she produced. She was the twin of someone he had looked up to, which made him find a care for her. She was one of the two Despair sisters, but she had Hope faintly radiating out and around her.

As for now, he felt a strong pressure vibrating and shaking him. It wasn't foreign or unknown. It was strange and isolated. He hadn't felt anything exactly like it for years. But he's feeling it here, sitting beneath bulb lights of mint and moss.

She’s here as well. She's waking up, slowly blinking and rising up from the floor. When she's sitting crisscrossed like him, she darts her head around. She sees all of the workplace's shades of green. And then after she notices the mirror to her left, her blue irises find both of their reflections.

She immediately turns her seated self around to see him. After looking him up and down, she opens and moves her mouth. But no words come flowing. He tries to ask about what she tried to say. Like her however, he strangely can't talk. Their separate pairs of irises narrow. He knows they both can speak, but here and now something is making them go mute. But he doesn't know what, and from her looks neither does she.

While having silent voices is a problem, he can't stay focused on it. So he simply shakes his head, and pushes a hand into the inside of his beige outfit. As it searches for a particular item, he sees her watching him. She has a harden gaze, it barely blinking away any sign of her weariness. And similar to him, she has a hand reach into her left-boot for something.

When he finds and pulls out a plate-sized, half tinted and shaded green four-leaf clover, she doesn't pull out whatever hides in her boot. She lets her fingers idly remain inside, and shifts her sight onto the clover. She stares, with puzzlement and caution growing with every second. Then she re-meets his irises, slightly raising her brows.

He slowly gives her a nod. Then, as he holds half of the clover with the pressed cracks between his fingers, he pushes the clover out towards her. He tries to offer her a smile. His lips instead spread into a grin, and he winces at it's aching before turning his head.

After two minutes of no movement, she gradually reaches a hand out. She carefully slides her three longest, palest right digits against the pointed leaf. Then she twists her hand over, brushing her knuckles against a piece of nature's texture. When she stops her hand at the leaf’s sprouted point, she looks to him. From the near-straight line of her lips, to the tiniest wrinkles of her forehead, there is a changing trio of displayed emotions. Her weariness lows, her confusion rises, and her interest becomes solidified.

It’s after a brief moment of when a fingertip of hers, stretches and touches one of his, that a sudden tear appears on the clover. He must've gripped it too hard, since the tear is on the leaf nearest to him. So he slightly unclenches his fists, trying to ease and loosen his grasp. But he pulls on it. And the tear from before grows, splitting the leaf.

As he frowns, she slides her fingers up and forward. His glance questions her. She doesn't offer any type of answer. She simply grabs the right end of the torn leaf, and gives it an strong tug. The tear expands and meets the middle of the clover. It doesn't rip into two when she pulls. The tearing actually diverts, forming and going into two different fixated directions. 

Curious just as she, he grabs and pulls at the split path not held by her. It seems to go through the leaf, and emerges on the floor-facing side of the clover. Together he and her watch as the torn paths reach two other leaves. They are separated down straight from the middle. Then as those two paths end, another path is started at the bottom-side root of the fourth leaf. They tug, they pull, and they witness the clover being complicatedly split into two others.

When his eyes re-meet hers, he can tell that they're both perplexed by this. However, before he begin think and try to answer mental questions, he notices that the leaves have changed beyond being split. Their halved shapes have become certain symbols. And the sight of said symbols flicked a switch in his brain, reminding him of the rectangular items residing in his breast pocket. 

Hurriedly undoing and flipping open the strap, he brings out 15 cards. He sets them on top of his clover. Then after noticing her arched brows at their presence, he starts dealing them into separate piles. One pile is made of evens, the other is of odds. And it's only after she stares at the pile containing seven, that she tries to communicate with him.

Her eyes go to the mirror, which leads him to do the same. It's then and there that he finally hears her. ‘Why do you have those?’ But her lips don't speak. Instead her words come from her gaze, now seeing his own cracked reflection.

When he tries to talk that way, his sight aiming at her glass-self, he doesn't hear anything. However she somehow does. ‘Talk to me? With playing cards?’ While he frowns at his inability to listen to himself, he also nods to her. ‘Why?’ He thinks of how using these cards, can be both fun and interesting way of him explaining something to her. ‘Why?’ He thinks and believes that: she's not as hopeless as she believes herself to be. ‘Why?’ He thinks that he might've figured out how they’re talking-

‘No, stop.’ At her sudden tensed statement, he instantly complies. ‘Why me? Why do you think I deserve…whatever this is?’ She points to the cards, and then at herself. ‘Don’t you know who- what I am?’

Both of his shoulders slump. His teeth bite into a upward-twitching lower lip. Right-sided knuckles press against the side of his masked head. The other line-up are dragged upward towards his visible mouth. And he sorts out his thoughts whilst watching a jittery knee.

He looks up after a short while, glancing from his cracked-self to her clear reflection. He thinks that he can relate to her. He knows what it's like to be surrounded by degradation. He knows the feeling of at first accepting, and then later believing you enjoy being inflicted by it. Believing that you deserve it, that it's all anyone should give you, that you're nothing without it.

He thinks that she didn't deserve most of it, if not all. Her main degradation provider, her ‘sister’ was wrong. What she deserves is possibilities to break away from it. She deserves chances to start over. She deserves more better, more happy paths than just one filled with disgusting Despair.

Taking all of that in, she lays her palms against her legs. She glances back and forth between both hands. It’s as if the hands themselves are representing choices. Her left has the wolf tattoo of her military life, as well as dry splattered blood. Her right has only her pale skin, and no stains of the past.

Instead of settling her gaze on either hand, she looks to his reflection. 'What could I even do, if I could begin again?’

He tries and fails to sustain a smile, and sighs before picking up one of the card sets. With their backs facing upward, he nods down at them. He thinks that he could show her some possibilities. If she would even want him to, of course.

'Sure.’ Though one half of a mouth has formed a frown, she nods with certainty. With that sign he deals her the first card. After she closely examines it, she puts it on the left side of her clover.

He thinks that Hearts, like how most people see them, are a representative symbol of Love. The Queen attachment however, isn't the sign of power it seems to be. The Queen here is a door of sorts. A door with a face leading to a path of Love. That path would be one involving a new family, along with new and old honest friends. Her dedication, her life would be connected to them.

Once she understands and nods, he deals her a second card. It displays a similar face, but a different symbol. She sets it down next to first.

He thinks that Diamonds are a representative symbol of Luck. Choosing the Queen of Diamonds, would show a path filled with risks. Those risks would be occupied by percentages. Those percentages would be for gaining, and losing many things. And family and friends will never be one of things, because they'll not be on the path. The path is one with no attachments.

She slowly looks to him, and gestures with a finger for another. He sends a third sliding her way. She lets it fall from her grasp, and watches as it drops near the second.

He thinks that Clubs are a representative symbol of Faith. Picking the Queen of Clubs, would put her onto a path of strong belief. That belief belonging to some business, group, or idea. Everything that you can or will do, will be serving whatever belief you're supporting and obeying. Family and Friends can be involved, but they’ll end up being a part of whatever belief you live for.

Her lips create a full frown, but she still asks for another card. He sends it flying a short distance towards her. She catches, and then carefully lowers it onto the clover's right side.

He thinks that lastly, Spades are a representation of Hope. Opening the Queen of Spades, would create and show many positives, as well as negatives. Unlike with Faith, Hope in others can believed to an extent. Family and Friends can be found, and may or may not be associated with any occupation you choose. Focusing on yourself, being selfish will be possible. And you'll be following a path that is: long, shaky, and at certain moments can become fragile.

She didn't give no sign of confirmation. She only continued to stare at the Queen of Spades. He would’ve asked if she was alright, but he could not. So he decided to deal her the last three cards. The sight of them made her bring all three up, and close to her irises. Once she looked each of them up and down, she set them above the Queens carrying the same symbol.

He thinks that Aces are also doors, but their faces are the first letter of their kind. For all of the Aces, the paths that on the other side are more challenging. The Ace of Hearts has family and friends, but there will be more notable times including arguments. Along with many periods of being separated, and few moments where you can find a silent peace. The Ace of Diamonds has you on your own, but you’ll experience more dangerous risks. There will also be more vague percentages, and also lots of earned moments of quietness. Then there's the Ace of Clubs, which has you facing more stress with following your beliefs. Stress meaning that you'll have many doubts, more duties to tend to, and almost no single second where you can just relax.

She nodded, frowned, and bit at one of her fingernails with each explanation. At the end of them however, her eyes narrowed. She glances from one card to the next, likely counting them. And then turned to the mirror. ‘What about the Ace of Spades?’

He thinks- no, he KNOWS that it's not available. It’s buried with the one who cherished it.

At first her eyes slightly broaden, with her fingers folding against her palms. Is she just surprised? Did she pick up some implication? Whatever she thought, he didn't hear it make sound. And almost in an instant after she shakes her head, her eyes and fingers return to normal-like states. 

‘Ok, how about the symbols? Why do you see them as representations of Love, Luck, Faith, and Hope?’

He thinks- knows that he had watched an interesting video involving cards, and had come to define them by lots of thinking. When he actually got his hands on a set, he played several different games by himself, and with-

A sudden clap from her stopped him. 'I asked about why, not how.’

He…knows that it was because of feelings. He wanted to gain more then just fun from playing cards, so he defined them as representations. His source of reasoning being not only himself, but also clovers. Because he really likes clovers.

As she gives an understanding nod of sorts to his answer, he feels a watery presence. It’s effecting his eyes and sight. And it's only effecting them a little bit. Just a little bit, like a small ache pain.

‘How about the paths you described? Why do you think that's how they'll go, if I choose any of the cards?’

He knows that he just drew out some conclusions. Besides, having Love means you can have friends and family. Having Luck will involve risks and percentages. Having Faith will make you be devoted to something. And having Hope above everything else is…a tricky thing.

She looks down, at her hands not at the cards. Her gaze shifts from right to left, left to right as she slides her fingertips against the cards. Then while she continues doing that with her right, she lifts her head. ‘Why do you give me these cards?’

While the watery presence- the watery ache grows, and he feels a few liquid lines roll down his forehead, he knows that she deserves another chance. She deserves to restart her life with more possibilities.

There is a strange but familiar pounding echo, when she moves her hand from right to left. ‘Why do I deserve another chance? Why more possibilities?’

His eyes get more blurred with water. The number of liquid lines increase. He knows that she's done terrible things. But most people who’ve done terrible things, deserve another chance. That chance being for something good, with the possibilities all leading to some good things.

Her arm moves the same way a second and third time. Two more pounded echoes play out. ‘Why do you care?’

The water is close to blinding him. The liquid lines are now beginning to pour. But he knows- still knows that people who've done terrible things, aren't defined only by them. He isn't defined by all of the bad he's done. He knows that she isn't either. There is goodness that deserves to be shown, that deserves to be acted on. With a chance and more possibilities, that goodness can happen.

There is a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth. ‘Why?’

The water is starting to leak out. It falls and drops, joining with the pouring lines. They go over and pass his cheeks. They land on and go beyond his vibrating mouth. They…go on and on, giving his sight some clearance.

He croaks at what he sees. There is blood splattered. There is blood dripping. There are holes from where the blood emerges. There are burn marks scattered mostly throughout her arms, and on her face. There is only one spot untouched, the tattoo of Fenir.

She turns over the Queen of Spades. The loudest pounded echo blasts inside pf his ears. But he can still hear the thoughts serving as her words. ‘Why do you waste time, feelings, and kindness on someone who’s DEAD?’

His fingers grabs and throw aside his clover. His hands cover his eyes as they spot four Kings and Jacks. His arms hide away his mouth. And he throws himself back onto the floor.

He doesn't want to think that he's wasted any time. He doesn't want to know he's wasted kindness. He doesn't want to understand that he's wasting feelings. It's because she doesn't deserve to be dead. Even though he doesn’t know her, or really understands her, she deserved better in his view. She deserved a life without degradation, without constant reparation, without a despair demon pretending to be a sister.

She deserves better…because he can relate, and because he deserves to be better.

Removing his hands and arms from his masked face, he finds himself in a place of near-darkness. Beneath him are sheets and a covered mattress. Around him is the hidden confines of a room. Up above him is a mirror, dimly lit by a rectangle outline of small bulbs, and is extended out by poles stuck to the ceiling.

He sees his rattled, watery eyed reflection. He watches as no water leaks out. Then as it all seems to go away, and dry out, he turns over onto his side. His fingers and toes curl together. His head presses into the sheets. And he ends up staring into a random spot of blackness.

Throughout the night his face aches, and he struggles as he thinks: ‘Why am I so stupid?’

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by episode 8 of the JokerBlogs on YouTube, and a Role-Playing thread on a Danganronpa Subreddit. If you wish to give any feedback, feel free to comment with decency.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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